


it's going to rain on friday,  the twenty-second of december

by vesperthine



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Christmas, Established Relationship, Family Issues, M/M, Relationship Discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:43:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesperthine/pseuds/vesperthine
Summary: Isak has tried to tell him that there’s nothing to discuss( – that mom isn’t well, that dad is a coward, that he just wants to forget everything about family and expected happiness and just leech off of theirs – )but every time Even has gone quiet and looked down; looked so sad that the conversation has just died.Which he knows is a fatal blow( – a communicative meltdown – )that leads to everything that he wants to avoid; screaming and crying that reminds all too much of the things he just wants to forget.





	it's going to rain on friday,  the twenty-second of december

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [det kommer att regna på fredag, den tjugoandra december](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080984) by [vesperthine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesperthine/pseuds/vesperthine). 



> written for evaktekets christmas challenge with the prompts: _christmas past, present and future_ , _bah, humbug_ and _candles_. as usual, not much in the fluff department from me, but i hope it's still enjoyable!
> 
> the english version (and thus its mistakes) are my own, but the beta readers for the swedish version were tristealven och irazor, who saved the life of this fic ♡
> 
> ps: this is the promised translation! if you're able to read swedish, please do consider the swedish original!

 

“Isak! Come back! Where are your going?”

Even’s voice is high pitched _( – almost panicked – )_ and his quick footsteps follow him into the hallway and he grabs his arm. The grip is light, but the touch is still unbearable; burns its way through his sweater to the skin, and he just can’t.

Isak yanks his arm away, and grabs his jacket with the same violent motion, causing Even to take a step back. “Don’t touch me! I’ll send a text if I go to Jonas’, but for f – Even, cut it out!”

In the half-dark, Even’s eyes glisten with such judging intensity that Isak can feel them on the back of his neck when he puts on his shoes. So he doesn’t look back before he slams the door shut behind him. The echo of it sounds through the stairwell, accompanied by his running feet.

Outside, the wind is cold. A typical kind of Oslo chill; damp, awful and icy. It’s one of those that pass through every layer clothing, coils itself around your bones and tightens around them. The slush soaks through his shoes as soon as he steps out the door. It registers in a part of his brain that’s been shoved to the side; is crumpled up in a corner to make room for that other thing that makes his skin protrude in chafing ridges.

The thing that makes it hard to even breathe properly _( – makes it hard to oxygenate his brain and direct his thoughts onto the right track again, away from that which he’s letting take over more and more – )._

There’s neither rhyme nor reason to the direction in which he’s going. The snowfall is heavier now compared to when he went home from school, but he has remembered to bring a beanie this time. His hands are already cold in the pockets of his jacket, but with a hat, he at least won’t be sick.

He wanders for a bit _( – trying to dispel the blackness within – )_ until he halts at a tram stop. Jumps up and down in an effort to start up the circulation in his feet again, until a pair of headlights penetrates the darkness and the tram rounds the corner.

Without checking the line, Isak boards and falls onto the closest seat.

It’s in the hours between the afternoon rush and people heading to their different pre-games or nights out and is thus relatively empty. A couple university students are talking quietly in the back end of the car _( – a Bergen dialect, and something that reminds him of Noora's slow vowels – )_ and a woman scratches her dog behind its ear, where it's sitting between her knees.

The dog looks at its owner with raised eyebrows.

Isak swallows and looks at the darkness outside.

In his pocket, his phone vibrates again, but he ignores it. Knows that it’s Even who wants to reach him, make him come home. Also knows that he has to get this anger out of his system _( – the one that chemically burns like sodium hydroxide in his veins, eats its way through the layers proton by proton – )_ before he can come home again; has to let it out as to not take it out on Even.

Because he doesn’t deserve that, especially when it’s not about him.

Not really.

 

The thing is just that Christmas means different things to them.

It’s hung over their heads for a couple of weeks now, but Isak just hasn’t been able to touch it _( – didn’t want to cut himself on the sharp edges – )_. And Even has been avoiding it too; has focused on decorating their apartment as well as he could, so Isak hasn’t had the heart to tell him to stop.

Because a small part of him had hoped _( – naively, childishly, stupidly, completely in denial – )_ that it, after everything that's happened, maybe would be different this year. And in a way, it is. The sum of it all is lighter, and even though it’s still really tough at times, it’s easier to solve the problems because he’s realized that he has to.

And more importantly, that he  _can_ solve them, and that it’s always worth it.

But that’s regarding _them._ Not just him.

The semester might be over now, but the stress lingers; stress hormone levels had still been through the roof when he stepped through the door to the apartment. There had been such a mess in his head that he’d cleaned the room  _( – thrown out the study mess, changed the sheets, aired out all the anxiety – )_ and made himself ready for a night in with Even. Lovely Even, who had promised to make food for them, despite working late. Who had promised that it would just be them, together _( – shielded from the world for a while – )_.

And it had started so well – until dad had gotten in touch.

In a text, as usual _( – still completely impossible to communicate as father and son should – )_ and asked what his plans were for the twenty-fourth _( – are you visiting mom, should we do something together, would you consider meeting my new girlfriend, please Isak, she really wants to meet you and Even – )_ and New Year’s.

And it had just been too much.

So, he’d distracted himself. Written mom and asked if he could stop by on the twenty-fifth. Opened a beer. Had tried to suppress the undefinable within him. Because what else was he supposed to do when he didn’t even know what was wrong in the first place? There were no other alternatives but to try and forget _( – despite the twenty-fourth coming up on Sunday, and that time was running out and breathing down his neck – )._

So when Even had finally made it home _( – tired and worn out, small dark circles underneath his eyes – )_ he’d been able to push it down a little bit further. It was going to be their night, so he’d smiled; jumped onto the kitchen counter and talked about music while Even made food.

And then Even’s phone had gone off with two messages from his mother.

Two small texts asking how the twenty-fourth looked for them. Something which had made it all unravel. Because Even had finally gathered his courage and asked _( – impatient, a little frustrated from work, he’d hid it well – )_ if Isak had made up his mind; if he could finally write and say that they would be a little late.

If he didn’t want to see his family for an hour on Christmas Eve, at least.

And everything had gone straight to hell.

Because sometimes the anger inside of him is like a monster. Destructive, violent and irrational. And the worst part is that he knows that it only gets worse the longer he tries to suppress it ( – _tries to keep his king from getting cornered, moving one tile at the time, the queen right on his heels and the next move means checkmate – )._ But there are such large quantities, takes up so much space within him, that sometimes he’s simply out of options. Particularly when he doesn’t know the exact source of it; doesn’t have a pre-planned strategy for how to solve it.

So there had been nothing left to do but to run.

 

The cool, female voice calls the next stop, and without thinking, he steps off. When he realizes where he his, he slowly starts walking back to school; his thoughts unusually quiet. Walks through the opening in the fence and crosses the schoolyard. A mix of snow and rain has gathered on the bench, and he wipes it off with his hand _( – the cold bites his skin – )_ before he sits down on the backrest.

Looks towards the street, with the passing cars, and breathes out a cloud of smoke.

The windows across from him are filled with yellow light that reflects in the black, cold tarmac. A few candlesticks and Christmas stars shine at him, and a bit further down there’s a sound of muffled bass coming from a nightclub _( – it’s a Friday night, after all – )_ and suddenly it hits him that he really just left.

He hides his face in his hands when the anger just leaks out _( – punctures and shrivels up to nothing inside of him – )._

Finally.

Because he does understand. They’ve kept it open for so long now, and Even has kept his parents wondering, told them that they don’t know yet if Isak will show up at all, if they both will be there, or if they’ll come, but show up later. Isak has tried to tell him that there’s nothing to discuss _( – that mom isn’t well, that dad is a coward, that he just wants to forget everything about family and expected happiness and just leech off of theirs – )_ but every time Even has gone quiet and looked down; looked so sad that the conversation has just died.

Which he knows is a fatal blow _( – a communicative meltdown – )_ that leads to everything that he wants to avoid; screaming and crying that reminds all too much of the things he just wants to forget.

And as usual, it all comes down to the fact that he can’t sort out his own feelings properly. That he doesn’t know what he actually wants, because he can’t separate what he wants from that which he should want _( – where the anger really grows – )_ according to norms; where the line between responsibility and your own well-being goes.

That which is his omnipresent _( – very own, well watered, finely tuned, personalized – )_ problem.

His phone vibrates again and yanks him back to reality. He lets the air in his lungs come out as smoke and mix with the sleet before he reaches into his pocket. Nine unread messages waiting for him. He doesn’t read them, just opens their conversation and types a quick answer _( – at Nissen, it’s alright, won’t be gone much longer, home soon – )_ so that Even won’t worry anymore.

Explains without words that he just needed to breathe, but that he’s not going to run any further than this.

No matter how uncomfortable it is.

 

* * *

 

 

The door creaks, the lock rattles and the walls and doors are thin, making sneaking in an impossibility. From the room sounds Christmas music _( – piano and a raspy male voice – )_ so he quietly shuts the door behind him and puts his soaked shoes against the radiator before he goes inside.

Even’s face has a ghostly, blueish tone where he’s curled up watching something muted on his laptop. It’s admirable how he manages to make that lanky body of his look so small, and it makes Isak feels small too _( – he doesn’t want them to feel small, the both of them, right now – )._

He clears his throat.

“Hi.”

Even doesn’t look up from the screen _( – bites his chapped bottom lip – )_. “Hi.”

The song on the playlist changes character, becomes lighter, brighter. Mostly to have something to do, Isak takes off his beanie. Walks across the room and puts it on the radiator beneath the window.

“Which song is this?”

Still without lifting his eyes from the screen, Even takes a breath. “ _Fairytale of New York_.”

The snow has turned into sleet again, and Isak walks back across the room. Hangs his jacket on the empty hinge in the doorway between the hallway and living room. A bit of melted snow drips onto the floor. He wipes it up with the sock that hasn’t really dried yet.

“The duet about that fighting couple?”

“Yes.”

Isak stops on the creaking floorboard _( – takes charge – )._ “Hey, Even?”

Something in his voice must’ve ticked him off, because finally Even looks up. “Yes?”

“Can I lie with you for a bit?”

A moment passes where Even doesn’t do anything. The song dies down; a bit of sleet hits the window.

Then he nods.

Isak crosses the floor in two steps and curls up beside him _( – doesn’t care that his jeans leave wet patches on the duvet, that the seams dig into his hip – )_ and without hesitation, Even opens his sleep-warm arms and holds him. Isak presses his nose against his neck, and when the last bit of anger washes out of him, he realizes how tired he is.

“I’m sorry that I just left.”

Even breathes into his hair _( – short and long breaths, as if he’s editing his words – )._ “Can you stay and try to explain it next time?”

Isak nods _( – thinks about the worried angry conciliatory begging messages – )_ and kisses his ear.

The silence stretches out between them. Comforting, like a breather on a plateau before the last climb. On the laptop, Seinfeld is on, and despite the fact that he feels leached _( – empty and hollowed out, echoing, stretched out in the wake of anger – )_ he lets Evens vibrating laugh spread in his chest too.

“Do you think you’re ready to talk about it?” Even mumbles when the credits start to roll. “I know that I shouldn’t have said what I did – but I want you to explain, too? So that I understand what happened.”

Isak turns his head away and takes a deep breath. “It’s such a mess, is all.”

Even doesn’t say anything; just strokes his hand slowly over his hair, so he continues.

“I wish I knew. But it’s just – it’s about dad, in a way. Because he’s expecting things. Even if he doesn’t say it out loud. He wants me to forgive him, wants me to celebrate Christmas with him. And that I should meet his new girlfriend, that I should like her – and forget about mom for a bit. And that just stresses me out. Especially when we can’t talk about it.”

It hurts to say it _( – to see the light in Even’s eyes go out – )_ but when he says it, he also knows that it’s the truth. He swallows and mindlessly lets his hand run along Even’s side. “I should’ve brought it up earlier. But I didn’t want us to fight about Christmas. Not over something we can’t control.”

At once, the air feels too big in his lungs and he lets it out with a sigh. Above, the neighbors are moving; something rolls across the floor. Maybe a present being wrapped. Something big and heavy that needs to be rolled into the wrapping paper instead of the other way around.

“But I also know that it won’t just go away because I try to stop thinking about it. I know that you want to help me, but you have a completely different relationship with your parents. So, I just want – even if it isn’t what you would’ve chosen, or what I _should_ do because it’s Christmas, I have such a hard time knowing what I feel, because everyone has so much to say about how I _should_ feel.”

Saying anything more feels redundant, so instead, he reaches out a hand; his palm facing upwards. Even takes it, still, and interlocks their fingers before he raises them and brushes them over his cheek.

“You have to let me be mad at him, if I want to be. Because otherwise, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

When Even meets his eyes, his gaze is so intense that Isak nearly loses his breath. But he keeps his own gaze steady until he can see Even nod.

“Okay.”

His cheeks are slowly beginning to warm up _( – prickling and burning when the blood pushes through constricted capillaries – )_ and he looks out over their room, their little refuge, while Even brushes his fingers through his hair. Even has really made an effort with the little space they have, and something behind his eyes stings when he sees that three of the advent candles are lit _( – the flames’ shadows shivering on the wall – )._

“Really it’s between me and him. I just want him to realize – “

Beneath him, Even makes a cat-like sound and moves his head. His hair drags across the pillowcase; it rustles a bit in the room.

“What did you say?”

Isak turns his head away from everything _( – candles, Christmas star in the window, the little tree on the top of the chest of drawers – )_ and crawls down under the duvet to bury his nose in Even's stomach instead. Wraps his arms around his hips, breathes him in _( – safety, home, responsibility – )_ and says the words straight into his skin, as if he can imprint them with his lips alone.

Remind him every time he goes down on him about what he’s actually got.

“I want him to apologize.”

Even’s hand finds its way back into his hair under the duvet. “For leaving the both of you?”

“No, not really. I left her too.”

And then the words get stuck. He swallows them down again.

The fingers in his hair scratch at his scalp and Isak pushes his head against them, asking for more. The lump in his throat that formed in the wake of the anger _( – its content that fills him to the brim – )_ have left behind a shriveled shell. It makes it possible to examine the shape and form; see where the sharp edges are, where the hollows and shadows hide when he really looks at it.

And it’s broken, sharp and ugly _( – belongs in the same yellow container as the used needles they take Even’s blood with – )_ but now he at least knows where he can hold it without cutting up his hands.

“Or, I don’t even know what I want. Only that he should admit that – that they failed to take care of me properly. And that it has consequences.”

The hand in his hair curls around the nape of his neck. A thumb caresses slowly behind his ear with small movements and spreads warmth like rings on water and closes his eyes, lets it all come out _( – pulls out the bottom, lets it pour, disjointed but complete – )._

“And I know it’s not her fault. I know so. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t miss them. Or, not them – but how it was before. Because I do. Especially now, this time of year.”

He snivels, even if the painful spasms that alert him to tears stay absent. Beneath his arm, Even’s leg quivers, and Isak bites his lip before he _( – with dirty fingers, bitten nails and raw willpower – )_ digs up the last, real answer.

“I just want – I just want to forget it all, be with you, your parents and the like on Christmas Eve. Is what I want to say. I think.”

The warm, stuffy air beneath the duvet is pleasantly thick, makes him a little dizzy. But when Even holds a little tighter around his neck and pulls, he follows and puts his head on his shoulder instead.

Even looks down at him, and his face is so sad that Isak feels a pull at his nostrils.

“We can do that. But, I don’t want you to be angry. Not because you don’t have the right to, but I can just see the toll it takes on you.”

Isak frowns. “I don’t get anything out of seeing him right now. Later, perhaps, but not now.”

“No, I know,” Even sighs, a bit dejected, before he smiles.

From his position, Isak can see almost the whole apartment. The table, with school books and Even’s sketchpad. The candlestick with the three lit candles. The chest of drawers with the little plastic tree and their presents underneath.

The halfway melted snowflakes falling past the streetlight outside.

He draws a breath; blows out his cheeks on the exhale. “I know that I should want to. But I don’t. I don’t want to be with him or mom on Christmas Eve. Because it’s something I do for them, and I don’t have the energy to give him anything on Sunday. It sounds really selfish, but I want to get something out of seeing them too.”

“I get that.”

“Mm.”

Air passes between them _( – nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, argon – )_ and slowly heats up. And that, together with Even’s arm under his head, is what makes it okay. Dissolves the last pieces of anger and disappointment within him; lets him come back to the present and lets him take back control over himself.

The puffs of air from Even’s lungs makes his lips sensitive, makes them tingle, and without contemplation over what he wants, he kisses Even’s chin ( – feels light stubble as a prickle against his mouth – ). Even kisses back, _( – misses, catches an inch of his top lip – )_ and Isak lies down on his side.

The seams of his jeans dig deeper into his hip, but he couldn’t care less when he pushes himself closer to Even _( – surrounds himself with him, with all his senses – )._ Slowly but surely the air turns thin, their breaths quicker and his crotch heavier.

“Even.” He brushes his nose against Even’s chin; carefully at first, but then with more force until Even tries to wriggle away with a laugh vibrating in his throat. “Even. Do you still want to have sex with me?”

Even tilts his head and lets the laugh come out on a puff of air. “You’re so cute.”

“Answer me.”

Thin, warm arms wrap around his waist and Even turns them over; pushes him into the mattress with ease. “Yes, Isak. I still want to have sex with you,” he whispers and leans down to kiss Isak again.

For a while, they just lay there; kissing and touching each other. He strokes along Even’s back _( – revels in the fact that he’s allowed to and gets to be this close – )_ at the same time as nicotine cold hands find their way underneath his sweater and pull it over his head. Isak lets his back sink into the mattress while Even takes place between his legs _( – lifts his t-shirt, trails kisses down his stomach – )._

Cold fingers fiddle a bit with the buttons of his fly when Isak catches his eyes.

“No. Come here,” he says, hearing how raspy his voice sounds.

He doesn’t need to say it twice. Even crawls up to him _( – drops down onto him like a chainmail duvet – )_ and Isak hugs him hard. Anchors himself in the scent of him, that is the strongest by the side of his neck, and them pushes their hips together; feels how hard they both are.

“Like this?”

The kiss behind his ear transforms into words, and Isak nods.

“Yes.”

Even’s so hard and warm against his hip, and it’s like a cold balm against sunburned skin _( – physical proof of how much someone wants him, just like this, without pretense – )._

“Do you want me inside of you?”

Despite the fact that it’s been almost a year since the first time, there’s still something going through him like lightning at the thought. His stomach tightens up, and he closes his eyes _( – his muscle memory has a flashback – )_ before he nods. “I think so.”

“Okay.”

While Even fumbles on the bedside table and locates lube and condoms, Isak gets out of the wet jeans. Puts his hands under the pillow, and stretches out; watches without inhibition as Even gets out of his clothes. Light from the flames fall on his arms and chest, the slightly bony shoulders, when he grabs him behind the knee, pushes it upwards and out.

Bitten nails dig into his thigh before two lubed fingers push inside of him.

Isak’s leg spasms involuntarily when they find their place, and a moan drags its way up from his chest. And when Even pushes inside him _( – slowly, steadily, with breaths whistling between his sharp teeth, without breaking eye contact – )_ he gets goosebumps all over; shivers with pleasure and with letting go.

Because there’s no stress in what they do.

No precise goal, no performance anxiety, no nervous energy to dispel. Just them, and the fact that they’re as close as two people can be.

He closes his eyes, let’s himself feel everything _( – lets every little signal grow exponentially, get bigger and bigger and bigger – )._ Holds an arm around Even’s neck and pulls his legs up around his waist, pulls him closer; feels Even pant where he thrusts slowly, but hard into him.

Again and again, until _( – his skin pulls tight, blood thunders in his ears – )_ his whole body tenses, shudders and he comes.

It’s quieter and not as heated as usual, but that’s okay.

Their breaths echo in the room when Even, at last, falls down on top of him, boneless. His blood is still rushing through his veins, so Isak just caresses across the knobs of Even’s spine; feels every little protrusion against the pads of his fingertips _( – every up, and every down, always the two of them – )_ while the quick pulse slowly but surely is replaced with a steady, sleepy calm.

When Isak can finally breathe normally again, he opens his eyes. Looks Even straight in the eye, and brushes a damp lock of hair _( – having escaped its prison of wax – )_ from his forehead. Even breathes out, and Isak closes his eyes again when a thumb strokes over his eyebrow.

“If you just let yourself feel, what do you _want_ , Isak?” Even whispers.

No more explanation is needed to understand what he means. The playlist has quieted down, and in the apartment above another heavy thing rolls across the floor. Outside, the sleet has turned into real snow again, with big flakes falling towards the ground.

“Can we stay at yours?”

“We can.” Even’s voice is steady, where Isak’s had been a shaking whisper. “They’ll understand. And mom loves you.”

“The ideal son-in-law.” The laugh catches in his throat, so Isak swallows it down again. Leans his head into Even’s hand instead _( – grounds himself in his warmth – )._ “That’s me.”

“That’s you.”

With a finger he slowly strokes over Even’s nose, and down towards his mouth. “I’m – earlier I texted mom and asked if I could visit on Christmas Day. Just for an hour, but.” The skin under his fingers is soft and a little slick with sweat. “If you want to come with.”

“Do you want me to come with?”

Words suddenly feel a bit redundant, so he just nods.

“Then I’ll come with.”

Isak smiles, and buries his nose in Even’s collarbone, breathes him in. It’s surprising how good he smells, always _( – even drenched in sweat and after sex – )_ and sometimes he wishes that he could bring that scent everywhere; a purely physical reminder that Even always is and always will be there.

No matter what he does.

 


End file.
